Two Kings Come Calling
by Mirrordance
Summary: Word of Ithilien's splendor is taking Middle-Earth by storm. Everyone is eager to visit, except for two kings who know its beauty may be coming from the worsening torment of its chief elven architect, Legolas.


**hey guys!**

 **Firs off, massive thanks to all who read, followed, favorited, voted for and especially to all who reviewed my most recent post, _When It Comes_** (the fourth one-shot in my _Halls of My Home_ series). More personalized responses will follow shortly. In the meantime, I thought I would express my thanks by way of a new fic, _Two Kings Come Calling_ , which I entered into the Teitho Contest ending last June 30th. I am happy to say it placed and I'm quite proud of it, so I do hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :) As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome :) **The fic will end with my usual afterword, with a bonus chapter of my new, longer work-in-progress.** Anyways, without further ado:

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 **"Two Kings Come Calling"**

Thranduil's P.O.V.: _Word of Ithilien's splendor is taking Middle-Earth by storm. Everyone is eager to visit, except for two kings who know its beauty may be coming from the worsening torment of its chief elven architect, Legolas._

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He travels practically in rags, with a gaggle of similarly-dressed men. His scout and mine had run into each other a few hours back, and returned to inform their respective masters of our parties' coincident arrivals. I knew to expect him on this road, just as he knew to expect me.

And here we both are.

Elessar is dressed down in a ranger's travel-worn cloak, and does not come with the standards of his freshly-reclaimed Kingdom. His head hangs low, and he is trying to be discreet except life had never meant for him to walk the world thus.

I know right away who among these cloaked travelers is the King. By presence or real physicality he is larger than all of them, his bearing strong and sure. The men around him give him a wide berth, and he walks the world as if he owns it; a fair truth I once might have begrudged but have long known how to live with. Our time is past, and our kin are called elsewhere. It is, after all, why we are both now on this road...

He recognizes me right away too, though I am outfitted in my own simpler wares and also traveling sans the standards of my House. I suppose we share the same (apparently) lofty ambition of trying to ride here in anonymity.

Elessar lowers his cloak to reveal his face, and bows at me first. It is gracious of him to do so, even if I am in his fiefdom now. I lower my own cover, and return his bow deeper, in recognition of his generosity.

We ride side by side, with scouts ahead and our respective protective details several paces behind us.

"I do not wish to intrude upon your reunion with your son," he assures me. "I swear to you my business with him will be quick, and I shall be away immediately afterwards to leave you with yours."

I wave the concern away casually. "The High King of Gondor and Arnor should stay as long as he wills in his own lands."

"I do not come here as such," he says, "and so the Elvenking must take precedence."

"I do not come here as such either," I murmur, but he already knew that. "I am here as a father."

We ride silently for a long moment, until I find myself telling him, "Do not hurry away, Estel. I do not know if it is I he needs, or someone else."

The _adan_ presses his lips together grimly, but nods. He understands my meaning, because this is not the first time, nor will it be the last... We are, after all, both here for the same reason and we both know it.

My drifting son needs an anchor. We just do not know how to toss him one and who will be the one to do it.

As word of Ithilien's incessantly-growing, breathtaking beauty spreads across our lands, only those who know Legolas best understand what it might mean. Where others see splendor, we are the ones who suspect torment.

This land is my son's gold gilded prison, and he is a caged bird in song. Unless I – we, now I suppose – are wrong, this is Legolas' aria, a singular opus of tortured, masterful work.

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I expected a feast for the eyes. I did not expect unrelenting beauty.

Legolas' affinity for greenery was apparent the moment we entered the bounds of Ithilien; many of the trees were young here, the ground still recovering from the ravages of the war. They stirred and shook in welcome, and the brushing of the branches and leaves were like music, in concert with seasonal fauna and the strong rushing of a nearby, powerful stream.

One of the paths were lined by shrubs and bushes in a gradient, with pale yellow plants at the entrance gently deepening to emerald as one traversed deeper within it. We passed high grasses that brushed against the sides of our horses, who lingered and were reluctant to leave. I reached for the plants and realized why; they felt like thick, rich velvet in my hands. There were flowers here that I've never seen before; my son and his settlers can make grow here things that cannot grow elsewhere. The air was sweet and citrusy with the smell of blooms and fruit.

It was forest you could see, smell, hear, feel and taste.

We felt eyes on us the moment we entered the territory, but we traveled undisturbed until Legolas himself met us on the path headed to where he and his modest colony built their new home. He appeared as if from nowhere, so much a part of this forest was he.

Suddenly he is on his horse in front of me. He is unescorted and surprisingly unarmed, comfortably clad in a rugged tunic. His hair is loose and unbraided. He is smiling.

"Two Kings enter the wood," he teases. His eyes are deep-set and dark-rimmed but alight. "One an elf, the other an _adan_. It sounds like the beginnings of a very good joke."

"I wouldn't leave it to your paltry sense of humor to fill in the rest," Elessar teases back. "Gimli, perhaps, can be relied upon for something serviceable."

"The one talent I might concede to the dwarf," Legolas replies good-naturedly.

Elessar barks out a laugh, and manipulates his horse such that it comes up to Legolas' beast so closely that their sides brush. By some marvel of balance and willpower, Elessar leans sideward and reaches for my son, to lock him in a hard embrace.

Legolas laughingly takes it, and he pats at the human King's back affectionately. When he pulls away from Elessar, he looks at each of us with such love and marvel that my heart aches. He sighs.

"I am either the most extraordinary being in all the land that you should both be here, or I am in the worst kind of trouble."

"May I remind you, _ion-nin_ ," I say, "These are not mutually exclusive."

"Even my fearsome father is funnier than me!" he teases. "Come, my lords. The roads are safe and beautiful but nonetheless long and tiring. Let us see you settled!"

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I settle in the suite of rooms assigned to me. It is grand in my eye, a well-considered space with careful and very deliberate design. My son always could have had anything gold could buy, and though he is loathe to admit it, an aristocratic taste to go with his princely stature. He likes thinking he is one with his people but really, he fools no one. The rooms I settle in have that creative conceit of his in every corner, this refined craftsmanship that is unabashed and at points even aggressive. But the room has surprisingly delightful, little details too.

Ithilien was war-ravaged, and its surrounding environs were as well. There are traces of that here, in pieces of cracked rock and broken ceramic that the colony's rebuilders had used and repurposed as the occasional decorative accent. Legolas and his merry little crew had apparently mended them with seams of gold, such that the breaks form shining jagged glints that boast of survival, rather than carrying the shame of damage.

I have time to ponder the various elements of my chambers because my delinquent brigand of a son is taking his sweet time before seeing to me. My valet has already arranged my things. I've bathed and dressed for a formal dinner. Still I wait. I try to appreciate the beauty around me and I try to be patient, but I also begin to stew in jealous thoughts. I wonder if, perhaps he has seen to the needs of his essential human Strider, before coming to see his own father.

He finally comes to my door; I am near chomping at the bit and a hair away from spoiling for a fight. That is, until he enters and I realize the likely cause of his delay.

He walks to me with his head hanging low, and he is tugging uneasily on his clothes and fixing his hair. He has freshened up too, and is very concerned about how he looks. I think he is aware he appears unwell.

"How do you like your accommodations, father?" he asks. I smell _miruvor_ on him when he speaks, it is so sweet and distinct. That he finds need of the precious, restorative cordial to face me is worrying.

"They are unparalleled," I tell him generously. It is also the truth.

He smiles, but it rapidly disintegrates into a pained wince.

"You've seen the repairs with gold?" he asks. "I saw these in my travels and learned the technique from a craftsman of the far, far east. But I cannot quite capture the deep but subtle, organic character of it. We've reworked these several times but I wonder why on this occasion it can seem gaudy.

"In the east," he shares, "they look at breakage as part of an object's character and history, nothing that need be hidden. I liked that sentiment but cannot seem to replicate it here. It looks like it is only playing at recovery and learning."

He uses the tips of his long, graceful fingers to flick at one such golden detail with a kind of casual dispassion, but then he takes back the slight by patting at it apologetically before letting go completely. When he lowers his hands, they curl and uncurl in restless fists at his sides. They are such small gestures, and he is quick to mask them. But it bothers me, all this uncharacteristic uncertainty. He'd always been one to plunge headlong into things. He always came out on top, however, so I often wondered if he was indeed reckless, or he just thinks and acts faster than everyone else. Either way, he was almost never uncertain of his objectives, of his abilities, of himself, of the things he likes and loves. That he should be so pained over a piece of decoration is unnerving to me.

"It's perfect," I assure him, "Maybe too much so."

"There is no such thing," he tells me merrily, with a dazzling smile. I've missed it, and I've missed him attempting to escape my scrutiny with it.

"These are quite lavish, for guest quarters," I comment of the suites appointed to me.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh but _ada_ , these are my rooms. They are the best, and so I yielded them to you."

It is my turn to be surprised. I arrived unannounced, and so I doubt he had very much time to clear out his things in preparation for my occupancy. So how come these suites of his appear so immaculate? There is no lived-in spirit to them, no worn-in character. There are traces of my son's taste, but none of his life. No one lives here, I am sure of it.

"Where did you settle Elessar?" I ask instead.

He smiles. "This room has a uh, shall we say, a twin. Equal in status and grandeur. Both are fitting for two kings, though that is only by incident rather than design. If you must know, it was meant for the elf-lord of Ithilien's wife."

He surprises me again. "You intend to pledge yourself to someone...?"

"My architects held hope I would find an _elleth_ with whom to share my life," he explains with a soft chuckle. "I did not have the heart to disappoint them that my priorities are elsewhere. 'Someone is sure to come along soon, _hir-nin_ ,' they all proclaimed, with much certainty. 'You have so much to offer,' someone or other added. It is still mostly Gimli who stays in them whenever he visits, however."

"Your dwarf wife," I say wryly.

He appreciates the joke, and his eyes glint in mischief "Some have wondered about that, certainly."

"It reaches your father's ears," I say blandly.

"What of it?" he asks, daring me. "If indeed I've decided to spend my heart thus?" I've missed his irreverent humor.

"Life is long with many paths," I answer.

He laughs aloud and shakes his head at me in endearment. "The Elvenking. Archaic, insular, dangerous – surprisingly progressive?"

"Love amongst males is hardly new."

"Ah, but he is a dwarf."

"A handicap I am sure," I concede with sham gravity. "But your preferences in romance is the least of my problems at the moment, believe it or not."

I immediately regret it when his eyes take on a steely quality. I've walked into a trap, lured in by his levity.

"What, pray tell, might your larger concern be?"

"I've heard such tales of the home you've built for yourself and your people," I answer, and this is one of many truths. I keep the others to myself, for now. I do not for example ask him, _Do you suffer? Should I come bear you away...?_

"It is lovely, _ion-nin_ ," I go on, "I wanted to see it firsthand, and determine by my own eyes how you are faring here, so close as it comes to the breezes of the sea."

His eyes narrow at me in thought and estimation. My answer does not satisfy him, but it is perhaps too early in my visit for the host to interrogate me, and Legolas can be so proper sometimes. So he pushes his inquest no further and asks instead, simply – "Pray tell me this one thing, _adar_. You and Aragorn here at the same time... am I being ambushed?"

I shake my head at him. "No. It wasn't by design."

He nods and accepts this for only a moment. "If it were an ambush, and you mean to disrupt my life in ways I do not yet understand – would you tell me?"

"Of course not."

He sighs. "Well that wouldn't be wise, would it?" He gives me a weary smile. "I am here to fetch you for dinner, but I must apprise you of something first."

I open my hands up for him to elaborate.

"I have given the elf Tauriel sanctuary here," Legolas confesses. "I know your former captain continues to be exiled from your Halls and will long be in disfavor, but I needed her skills and she needed a home. I have not the heart to turn her away even to please you, but I did advise her to stay scarce while you are here. She will be no bother to you, _aran-nin_ , I swear it. But as I wish for you to feel free to roam these lands wherever and whenever you will, I thought it best to warn you in case you run into each other."

It was almost at the tip of my tongue to say, I know she is here. Who do you think has written me to come, for you have been unwell?

Indeed, I needed someone within Ithilien to inform me of my son's wellbeing; his letters home could be sporadic and worse, uninformative. Sometimes even misleading. But an informant in my son's sphere – dare I say _spy_? - was difficult to find because Legolas gathered loyal friends and brothers everywhere he went. He'd returned from the Black Gates with a devoted dwarf of all things, for crying out loud. But Tauriel... I have seen firsthand her willingness to defy her king out of a keen, irresistible sense of right and wrong. She kept her own counsel and had the courage to stick to her convictions.

When she defied me, it was to my disadvantage and I had no choice but to send her away. Now I can leverage on her righteousness. I do not need her to be loyal to me or to Legolas, I only need her to have compassion to be on my side. And this, she has in abundance.

She was wary but responsive to my initial engagement of her 'services,' but eventually, the letters she's been writing to me became generous with details any father would hunger for. They spoke of Legolas' work and his achievements, of how the men of Ithilien and the elves who had come with him admired him, and of how elves from neighboring kingdoms have come to join in his endeavors. She spoke of how the colony grew in energy and diversity, and of how its beauty was unparalleled because it was a collection of the best of the world, and because of its tireless Elf-lord.

Thoughts of my "spy," Tauriel, make me wonder if Elessar has his own eyes and ears in Legolas' company, someone just as equal to the task of balancing loyalty to Legolas and respect for his privacy, with care and worry for his health. He had emerged from the War physically intact, but the sea-longing has scarred his mind and his heart. When all the battles ended, we've all had to lead our own lives and he had been left to find his own way forward. I worry about him in this context as all those who love him do, for none of us could be with him all the time and neither would he tolerate a coddling. I've no doubt Elessar would be of the same mind, and has an agent here like I do for the same reasons. It is just a question of who...

The dwarf is the likeliest candidate, though he is busy with his own territories of late and perhaps too loyal to _his_ elf (as I've heard he'd been claiming) to tell on him. Elessar's Prince, that Steward's son Faramir, is in both close proximity and in his and Legolas' close confidence, and I wonder for a moment if he would be willing to inform on Legolas for Elessar until I remember his wife. Ah, Eowyn of Rohan. She would be more equal to the task, I imagine. And no stranger to successfully defying kings and lords and men in pursuit of what is right, too.

" _Ada_?" Legolas prods. "I will not change my mind to accommodate you, I speak of this only so that you are prepared."

"I do not expect you to," I say. "Well I hope she has been useful." She certainly has been, _to me_.

"Thank you, _adar_." He places a palm to his heart and sighs in relief. "At any rate, as I said - I am here to fetch you for dinner, if you are ready."

"I've been ready," I say, "Lead on, elf-lord."

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Dinner is set on a long, slim, irregularly-edged table that seems simple at the onset, until I realize it is a single piece of petrified wood, a massive tree trunk cut in half lengthwise. It had become more gem than plant, with streaks of bold colors and sections of deep spotted black that looked like a heaven specked with stars. It was hand-polished to a smooth, shiny surface that I could not help but run my hands over. I imagined the incarnations of its life; it was a tree once, mighty and thick and old. Over the years the Earth reclaimed it, and by water and soil and salt and time, it became the treasure that now stands before me. Legolas has given it a third life in the small but grand keep he has built for himself and our – his now, I suppose - people.

Its only flaw is that it is too grand and long, and there is only three of us for dinner. On one end, a setting was placed for Elessar. On the other is a setting for me and in the very middle is one for Legolas. We all settle at our designated places, but I can see my irreverent son is already finding it hilarious. His shoulders are quaking.

I meet Elessar's gaze from the vast ocean of my son's table, and we come to a silent agreement. Almost instantaneously, we each pick up a wine glass and stride to the middle, where Legolas awaits us, grinning. His servants scramble to bring our plates and cutlery. I settle in on a seat across from my son's, while Elessar takes the one beside him.

It is a good meal shared amongst friends.

Legolas knows how to navigate the distance between Elessar and I, merrily explaining away this quip or that to the adan or myself, whoever needed clarification. It helps that our glasses are never empty; Elessar was like other men in that he had a disdain for half-filled or empty wine glasses. He kept reaching for a decanter here or a carafe there, serving all of us joyously.

Legolas' sommelier had prepared several wines, and the one I take a shine to is a fine Ithilien grape long unavailable due to war, and made refreshing by an infusion of native, seasonal fruits. It is a reminder that Ithilien is truly a rich land of natural bounty, once cultivated and brought back to life. We cheer Legolas' efforts and achievements more than once.

Whether by drink or exhaustion or some other malady, however, I notice my son drifting off in ever lengthening spaces. It started by increasing spells of quiet, as he stepped back from participating in conversation and simply listened to his friend and father talk. Then came a delay in responsiveness, even when he was prompted to engage. Soon he was nodding off.

It alarms me, until I catch Elessar's pointed look. I realize that he's been filling Legolas' glass with a different decanter from what he's been using to fill mine and his own.

The audacity of it all irks me, but I have the patience to wait and see what he intends to do. For now, I let myself become his conspirator. It is not hard, because Legolas listens to us sleepily, with an easy smile on his face. Our idle chatter relaxes him, and I abhor the thought of taking that away when he has been looking so weary. Elessar and I continue our conversation, but both keep an eye on him.

Legolas leans forward and perches his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his palm. His eyes lose focus in sleep. He startles awake and straightens, pretending to be awake and alert, only to fall asleep that way again and again. A few more tries and he finally succumbs – deeply, at that. His eyes slip closed. It worries me, but he breathes easily, and still has a small smile on his face. He is drugged and I think, perhaps only tired.

 _Only_ , I think spitefully. I've belittled it, but by the dark rings about his eyes, the _miruvor_ he's apparently been consuming, the nervous energy that has him on edge and in knots, and by the food untouched on his plate – there is nothing insignificant about this exhaustion.

"So you've been busy," I say to Elessar, reaching for Legolas' abandoned glass and smelling it. There is a sleeping draught lacing the drink indeed, in quantities minimal enough for a weary elf to miss. It could have been negligible in effect too, but glass after glass a long-exhausted Legolas had it, and so now the results are upon us.

I partake of some of the drug-spiked wine, which makes Elessar's eyes widen in surprise. I care not, I feel at the edge of a perplexing anger, and I find the need to curb it or, in failing to do so, at least curb my tongue. One must buffer up these edges. I wave a dismissal at the elves attending us. They scurry away accordingly.

"If one weren't careful," I tell the human King, "one might be accused of removing another's agency and forcing upon him something he does not desire. It could even be looked upon as an assault against a citizen of mine."

Not to mention _my son_.

Elessar attempts to make light of things. "We are on my land as you've said."

"You did not come here as King," I remind him too, "as you've said."

He knows now to take me more seriously. "That remains true. A just king would not impose this on him. A friend would."

I reach now for my own glass. One needs to be on one's toes with this audacious _adan_. But he has a point; where an interfering parent may be considered invasive and ultimately unsuccessful and a King may overstep his bounds and tread on someone else's freedoms... a well-meaning friend may be both forgiven and effective. If I'd drugged my son into a stupor for example, I almost certainly would have faced indignation and rebellion.

I watch as Elessar sidles up to be close to my son, nudging him just so. It is, I quickly realize, a familiar move, for even in Legolas' drugged exhaustion he responds to the other's nearness. With an unintelligible murmur, Legolas shifts sideways until his weight is partially borne by the man sitting beside him.

In my mind's eye, I see the two of them in travel-worn clothes, beneath the eaves of wild trees and starry skies. The resplendent confines of Legolas' Ithilien melts away and the world is wider, more dangerous, far removed from this one. It held such blinding promise but also pitch black death. They stood at that precipice in between, hurting and tired. But they were alive, they were together, and they had hope.

"You've done this to him before," I say.

"And he has done it _for_ me," Elessar says.

That makes a big difference, indeed. My anger vanishes.

"What pray tell," I ask, "is the precursor of this?"

"I received word he'd been hurt in an accident a few weeks past," Elessar explains, "As you know, he'd taken pains to preserve and build around the old ruins of his new land. He was doing some greening and rehabilitation of a decaying fortification when it collapsed."

Tauriel's most recent letter had said as much, which is what drove me here. The information therefore is not new, and my son sits in front of me alive and reasonably well, besides. Except, details like this still make my stomach feel hollow. I take another sip of wine.

"Luckily, the worst of the hurts were fairly minor," Elessar continues, "Legolas himself would have ordinarily shrugged off such injuries after a few days' rest. Mild concussion, bruised lungs, cracked ribs, cuts and contusions. He's survived far worse."

I drink again, only to find my glass empty. Elessar fills it almost absently as he continues to speak.

"But his recovery has not progressed well," he says. "He tired of the healers seeing to him which is no surprise, so he is trying to deal with it on his own. But how can he hope to heal when he barely sleeps and barely eats?" He motions dispassionately for Legolas' full plate. "This cannot go on. He neglects his health and occupies his mind and his hands by working, but I do not know if rebuilding this place is consuming him, or saving him."

"From the call of the sea," I finish.

"Yes." Elessar nodded gravely. "His casual approach to health and well-being can no longer be acceptable now that he suffers sea-longing. I think this is why he is recovering so poorly from these injuries. When I held him he was overwarm, trembling skin and bones."

I wish I had held him too, if only that these are also things I should have known, but that has never been our way. What Elessar had said – trembling skin and bones – made me think of a green leaf barely clinging to its place, shaken by the breeze before the coming Fall. Sometimes I wonder if I should have named my son for something more rooted and sturdy, rather than something that can be whipped away by a capricious wind.

I brush my fingers against the stem of my glass, and watch the rich red wine swirl with the smallest of my movements.

"The cry of the gulls and the call of the sea strikes everyone differently," I tell the human king. "They may even strike one differently at different times. It is really just about when you receive your own destined call. The sea... it is such a live thing, isn't it? It is never the same twice, so why should its call be the same for everyone? But all of our kin will be called each in his own time to differing degrees, because we all have a place in the water and the promises beyond it. Everything connects in the water. We are interwoven. It pulses with energy and song. We are infinitesimal in the sea, but small and precious like pearls and diamonds, rather than insignificant. It is belonging, it is homecoming.

"I can imagine why he does not sleep," I continue with a wince. "Why must one walk in elven dreams when they've all become bland and pale compared to a new home promised and glimpsed? The life he walks here is the dream, and the havens is the grand, distant reality. I know why he does not eat – I imagine he forgets, because he is anyway always hungry. One hunger is the same as the other. Do you understand, the existence he continues to eke here, Elessar?"

The human king presses his lips together and glances at our subject, who is still very much asleep and leaning against him. "I cannot understand, I am in no place to understand. But I do know him, and I know he is hurting. It's why I am here." He took a deep breath. "I've come to relieve him of a burden. I am here to release him from word he'd given to me, that he wouldn't sail for as long as I'm alive."

I shake my head at him in dismay. "You can try. But you know as well as I that he will go on and just do whatever he likes."

They really are like brothers now, because Elessar chuckles rather than despairs of that. "But at least he knows it as an option he can exercise at any time."

"He doesn't fear pain or hardship," I say with a grimace. "He fears... loss. Everything short of that he can suffer. At any rate you must not attribute his ailments only to the call of the sea. Consider also – he is a warrior, suddenly with nothing to do. No danger to warm and stir his blood, no excitement, no-"

"Purpose," Eleesar finished thoughtfully. "I have seen it in some of my men. The restlessness, the inability to believe and trust in safety. Eyes always wide to danger, even when it is no longer there. Hands hungry for work. Some soldiers do not find peace in... peace."

"And killing - the thing he is unequivocally the best at," I go on, "is suddenly with less relevance."

"You were a soldier too," Elessar points out. "How do you do it?"

"I cannot pretend to be better than my son in bearing this," I say. "Long have I shifted to tasks of a more, shall we say, administrative nature. Ion-nin on the other hand, has been a soldier for thousands of years at a time of particular hardship. He was born into it. He'd never known any other life."

"I've seen men driven mad with these preoccupations," Elessar shares. "They leave their families and friends, and they go to the forests as wild men seeing danger in every sound and shadow, still fighting a war long ended. This cannot be his fate."

"You know him," I point out. "What do you think?"

Elessar shook his head. "I know only what I hope. But I also know there are real limits to what a body and a mind can withstand. He is testing all of them."

"As he does," I murmur.

"So what did you come here to accomplish?" he asks me. "I've informed you of my business."

I watch my son for a long, quiet moment. He is going into deeper sleep, which will, ironically, loosen his limbs and have his head falling and his limbs flailing, which can very well wake him up.

"I just wanted to see how he was faring," I reply. It is the simplest of reasons, but also the most complex. Because once accomplished, what should be done about that which has been seen? I see my son in, in fading... am I thus to drag him perforce away from here, or let him continue on the way that he has? I have, after all, seen my son in abject misery before many times. This isn't even the first time his pains are because of Elessar. They've bled for each other before, the gods know how many times now. But this is not the same -

Legolas jerks and almost wakes. Rather drunkenly, he reaches for his wine glass, pretending as if he'd been aware all this time. But Elessar murmurs at him reassuringly and he goes back to sleep.

"And what do you see, of how he fares?" the human King asks.

 _It terrifies me..._

"He is unwell," I say, uselessly.

After a while, Elessar and I lift Legolas between us and bear him to my rooms; we realized we had no idea where he had situated himself after the arrival of two kings deposed him from his own chambers. We pass by many of my son's people, but none dare stop us or ask any questions or even offer any help. Between Elessar's and my own forbidding expressions, none dared come close. I imagine they could have let the two of us together get away with anything short of murder – and maybe even that.

Along our long walk, Legolas stirs awake once. He has one arm over Elessar's shoulders and another over mine. His legs are leaden, but suddenly stiffen as he tries to carry his own weight. They fold back to no avail, but he does lift his sagging head a little and looks first at me, and then the human on his other side.

"Oh you fools," he murmurs with a soft laugh, before his eyes slide close in sleep again.

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Legolas sleeps for two days.

The first night he was caught in a drugged stupor, exactly by Elessar's design. The next night, he'd just given in to his body's natural demands. He drank in sleep as if parched, long deprived. Once he'd had a taste, he took it hungrily, as if he couldn't have enough. He couldn't eat thus, but by some gods-given talent, Elessar managed to coax some broth into him for sustenance. He needed the rest more at that point and sure enough, he seemed to heal before my very eyes. A warm radiance returned to his skin.

By some wordless concert, Elessar and I took turns sitting with Legolas. There was always a light on, and warm pots and cups of tea, the aromatic scent of _athelas_ , the rustling of papers from two kingdoms, and the quiet entrance and exit of his and my aides. We came here as father and friend, but the business of our homes do not cease even when we set aside our crowns.

I was working on a desk in the anteroom to my – or Legolas', now – sleeping chambers, when I heard him begin to stir awake on Elessar's turn at watch.

I rise from my seat and make my way toward them, but stop at the door. Legolas is turned away from me and looking at Elessar. He does not seem to sense I am here. The human, if he does, has other fish to fry. His face is taut, and he is getting ready to say his piece. It keeps me from entering. But it certainly does not keep me from listening and watching. I've yielded many rights as a father, but I will not yield this. I want to know how this conversation goes and what impact it will have on my child's future. I need to know.

"How long...?" Legolas murmurs. His voice is thin and rough, just woken.

We are at the height of dusk but there is warm, ample light in the room. There is but a small light from a candle, but the blanket of stars from the windows are proving generous with glow. I see the two of them again in my mind's eye - they are younger and more uncertain, and the world is so large around them.

"Two days," Elessar replies tightly.

"A drugging record, even for you," Legolas teases.

It does not yield the levity it was intended to court.

"Most of it was you, _mellon-nin_ ," Elessar says. "Your body needed rest, badly. This cannot go on, Legolas. Not the way that it has. I think... I think the call of the sea is beginning to get the better of you."

Legolas sighs. "I know what you will say next. I should leave, for you refuse to be the cause of my suffering."

"No, _mellon_ ," says the other gently, "I refuse your suffering, and that is all. Responsibility for pain and death, I can always bear. I have borne it. I still bear it. We never could have accomplished all that we've done, if many were not willing to stand with us at the cost of their lives. It was a cost I had to be willing to pay for the prize at the end. I was willing to pay it with your life at many points, just as I was willing to pay it with mine. But to see you suffer thus..." he took a deep breath. "There is no prize, Legolas, is there? No prize at the end. Only pain, and when everyone around you is... is gone, only more of it. Why prolong? This is almost, almost like a slow death."

Legolas sighs again. I wonder if it is the weight of the conversation or the limitations of his healing body. Perhaps both.

"Would you have me heed the call and sail?"

"I would have you wherever your body finds healing and your heart finds ease," Elessar replies. "I release you from word you've given me to stay upon these shores until my death. You are called to sail and you are struggling here, _mellon-nin_. It shouldn't be so. All I desire is your peace."

"For me there will be no more peace," my son says quietly, and it takes my breath away. I ache for him deeply, to the core of me.

"Not here," he continues, "not in the trees. And in the end, when I am alone bearing all my losses, not even over sea. When you are... when Gimli... when all of our friends..."

He does not, cannot, say ' _gone_.'

He clears his throat. "That will take my heart, I think," he says instead. "But to leave now, when there are still years to share, it would be as if I cut it out myself. I refuse to do that."

After a long moment, Elessar says, "I am sorry, Legolas."

 _Ion-nin_ finds the heart to laugh quietly.

"That conceit of yours," he teases the other gently. "One must admire your sense of accountability, Estel, but there is arrogance in it too, isn't there? The thought that everything is your fault, is always underlined by the belief you have the power to change or affect things. Have you come here, for instance, under the belief that you can fix me?"

I hear the smile on his voice, but Elessar, like me, have lost all desire to treat this situation as something we can cover with an easy laugh or a clever barb. There will be no more escaping, not for Legolas and not for those who love him.

"Why shouldn't I be sorry for what has befallen you?"

"Because what has befallen me is love," Legolas answers. "And that, not even the gods can take away. I will lose those I love, but not my love. It is mine and I hold it close to me. It is all I will have at the end. I will not sail until you are gone, Estel. I will feed and fatten my love first, with experience and memory. I will sate it, let it gorge until I have a wellspring of reminders to last all my life. And I will live."

He says it so fervently, and no one, not the king of anywhere, would have been able to resist believing him.

"I will live," he says again, softer. "I am torn between here and there and it isn't easy, but I do not wish for relief from all of this, Estel. I cannot. It is too entwined with my happiness. I will stay until the end. You are stuck with me."

"This cannot be the right course of action," Elessar reasons, "if you are so unwell."

"I think it is unfair that you should expect me to adjust so quickly," Legolas points out, "when I've never known the sea before. I confess, it was tortuous at the start to deny its call, and the thought has crossed my mind to leave. But I am beginning to understand it, you see, and I have recently come to believe this... incompleteness is something I can bear. I am learning how to live with it until I sail. The recent injury has been a setback, I admit, but I am learning." At Elessar's skeptical frown he insists, "I am."

Elessar gives him a long, measuring look. His brows are furrowed in thought and consideration.

"But didn't you always brag about how you were a quick learner?"

Legolas barks out a surprised laugh, and it is like the small spark that starts a bright, hot, burning flame. It warms the room. It breaks the tight tension that was cackling around it.

"My tutors said I was prodigious. Just ask _ada_."

Mention of me reminds Elessar of my presence. He sends the barest of glances in my direction, not as a greeting to me, but as a loyal friend's warning to my son that they were not alone, that he was being watched, that he should put up whatever masks he meant to bewitch his own father with. I roll my eyes in consternation at the thought that I was being ganged upon. I am especially displeased when Legolas makes an immediate effort to straighten and sit. He looks at me earnestly, and I see in his eyes that he is wondering how much I've heard, and he is weighing how much of it I should have. Elessar is considering me with the same look.

They share the same expression, these two. As different as can be and yet, quite... brotherly. When I sent Legolas to the Dunedain in search of precisely this man and the renewed energy and purpose his quest entailed, I was only hoping to relieve my son of heartache. I did not know he would find another attachment, and a fleeting, mortal one at that. When I first saw them together, they shared an easy camaraderie, loud with laughter, generous with touch. I found it almost... common, for lack of a better term. I've never seen my son behave so familiarly. But I've often despaired of never giving Legolas brothers, and now I am relieved he's gone and made one all on his own.

"You're looking better," I say, and I watch with pleasure as his lips curve into a wide smile.

"I don't know why you'd think otherwise," he says wryly, and his hands motion for me to come closer in an almost minute gesture. The movement is soft and shy, a small wave of the wrist, barely anything because he is unused to ordering me around. But I do see it glaringly, precisely because – no one orders me around. Nevertheless, he does it for his need of his father, he bids me, and I come.

Elessar rises, realizing he's had his turn and therefore my son is now to be left to me. He favors me with a small bow, and I return it. We've both done here what we set out to accomplish.

I see now – my son fares well.

 _I don't know why I'd think otherwise..._

 _When what has befallen him is love._

 **THE END**

June 28, 2018

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 **AFTERWORD**

 **I. The Inspiration for Two Kings Come Calling**

The Teitho Contest. I can't believe I've only participated in this storied contest recently, but it has been a wellspring of inspiration, alongside everyone's kind and constructive reviews and commentary here on ffnet. They don't just give prompts, their descriptions of prompts are elegantly conveyed; they swirl around and flirt with and tickle your muse until she comes out of hiding or sometimes in my case, long, deep hibernation. It is a great place for both writers and readers, and just an admirable devotion by the organizers to this fan community.

Anyways, I was doing Two Kings Come Calling for last month's "Expectations" challenge, but what I eventually finished on time and entered was my previously posted, When It Comes, which was on Legolas' failed expectations of himself while temporarily occupying his father's high office. In Two Kings Come Calling, the challenge came about with what Elessar and Thranduil expected to see in Legolas' Ithilien. Eventually though, When It Comes simply finished first, and when I saw the "Customs" challenge, Two Kings... ended up fitting in better (the title alone suggested royal protocol) and pretty much finished itself with the inclusion of more customs. I am proud to say it placed in this challenge as well :)

 **II. The Characters**

On Legolas. I wanted him to be an object here. Something external and not completely understood. An object of observation, something mysterious. Thus, in keeping with my beloved device of the medium being the message, the reader is not privy to his perspective. I wanted his absence, his distance. He should seem like a ship shrinking in the horizon, where you can only see bare lines. Like you know what it is but you don't know it well anymore.

I think this mirrors his uncertain future with a significant "new" aspect of his personality shoved into him towards the end of the War - the sea-longing. It is so consuming, but difficult to understand. He has become, in a sense, a stranger to the other characters, as well as to the consumers of Tolkien's work (both in book and film), as we no longer see as much of him from this point forward. I wanted to convey that sense of distance.

As for this call of the sea... I do not completely understand what it is and the power that it has, so I tried to find a framework to work within. Is it a mental illness like depression that colors everything you look at? Is it a chronic illness that attacks in spurts but is otherwise survivable? Is it a fatal illness that gradually eats at you? Eventually I felt most at ease conveying it as a compulsion, like an addiction (for lack of a better term). Desired heavily once tasted, consuming and "destructive" if indulged (not that heeding the sea's call is destructive per se, but more like, it destroys the self in its current state). It is a hunger and thirst that cannot be sated, easy to fall off the wagon and into if you aren't hypervigilant. Even his father and friend coming by has hints of "intervention." I hope it is a fair representation.

Ithilien becomes a character here too. I don't know much about the cannon of it. I just know the elves established a colony there via Legolas and helped make it one of the most beautiful places in Middle Earth after the war. I added my own spin on what 'beauty' meant. By the way, for the eagle-eyed culture vultures out there ;), repairs with gold is indeed a real thing. Kintsugi in Japan, which I used as a metaphor here.

The Two Kings. I am an unabashed movie-verse girl, which I think is quite apparent. I've always written Legolas-centric, and in the LOTR trilogies I was heavily into his friendship with Aragorn. Lee Pace's Thranduil sort of slithered its way into my heart after The Hobbit films, so all my recent output includes him and/or his kingdom. I've been thinking of ways to bring Thranduil and Aragorn together and well, Two Kings Come Calling is one of the products of that. I am writing one or two others, but if you're familiar with my work, you probably know that that is no guarantee a piece will be posted soon, if at all. Gotta say though… reviews sure help ;) hahahaha!

 **III. Next Project Preview**

Note: This will be a slash. The preview below is pretty GP, for the curious. My slash works are all on the tame side anyway, because I'm kind of lame that way lol. As a second note, this may or may not be continued; it is already much longer than I originally intended, so yes, it is getting away from me. Reviews certainly won't harm hahaa ;)… especially since this is a new pairing for me. At any rate, without further ado:

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 **Title: These Visions of You**

 _Summary: When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf._

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The Lord Glorfindel was wise enough to admit that thousands of years as a living legend and being pandered to accordingly, could bring about certain... _expectations_.

Stable hands almost wrestling among themselves to take his horse's reins, for example. A warm greeting from a senior member of the household upon his arrival perhaps, or a cool drink of water infused with seasonal blooms in the summer and warm tea in the cold, offered even before both boots have hit the ground. He'd also known eager welcome from an admirer or two, sometimes by former lovers.

He wasn't expecting fanfare, but he was used to – and rather appreciative of – being given all that he needed and wanted. He was less amenable to the incessant watching he was often subject to, but even that was absent when he arrived in Rivendell one fair afternoon.

The guards and grooms, and the other elves that kept Lord Elrond's home running to its impeccable, unmatched standards, was scarce. Whoever remained seemed distracted, as if they longed to be elsewhere.

Glorfindel knew of few reasons – none of them good – that a home such as this would be brought to discord, and his blood turned cold. He accosted a scurrying soldier.

"Oh!" the younger elf said in surprise. His eyes widened in the realization that the tall, golden-haired warrior wanted anything to do with him. "M-m-my lord! How may I serve you?"

"What has happened here?" Glorfindel asked, even as he reached out with his own senses. He could hear blades singing in the distance, near drowned by the sounds of the rushing water weaving all around Imladris.

"The Lord Elrond would want to see you immediately I am sure," said the other elf. "He is in the main courtyard, with the others."

It explained nothing, but Glorfindel understood that whatever answers he needed would be found there. He released the elf to his duties and stalked past stables and receiving halls and the winding paths of Elrond's storied residence, following the sound of the swordfight.

They grew louder as he came closer. There were several blades in a small chorus, all made by his kin unless his ears deceived him. He knew by the thin, sharp sound they made as razor-thin edges clashed against each other. They sounded like brittle glass except they could hold until the end of the ages, if made well. These sounded flawless.

He could also tell all the blades were of elf-make from how they sounded when they pushed and glided against each other – the sound was long, sustained and even.

But beneath the song of might swords was a smaller voice with a different rhythm. Lighter and faster, tailed by a fierce, whipping wind.

Glorfindel entered the largest of Rivendell's many courtyards. It was surrounded by high arches woven around the branches of tall, majestic trees. Here, the foliage grew heavy and the rocks were thick. One barely heard the waterfalls outside. In here, the swords really sang. Their notes soared, no longer devoured by the rush of water.

There was a training exercise of sorts, watched by a thick throng of enthralled spectators, Lord Elrond amongst them. This was, he realized, where the household went, and where the rest wished they could be.

No one noticed the legendary warrior enter, and he kept that anonymity by staying behind to observe things quietly. By luck of his towering height he could see what had drawn everyone there.

There was an elf soldier – tall and wiry but powerful, his long hair a pale, silken gold – with a white knife held in each hand in lieu of a single, heavier sword. He was parrying and fighting against two of Elrond's best, and he was running circles around them.

Glorfindel's lips turned up in appreciation and his eyes trailed after the skilled combatants. A warrior of Glorfindel's caliber could not help but feel an itch on his fingertips. Skills in warring were dangerous gifts to have, and to know them well was a curse to need them. But there was art to be found in fighting too, and an unavoidable sense of desire to be the best at it.

He tilted his head in consideration of the lightly-built elf. By the colors of his garb and that golden head it was clear this was a wood-elf of Oropher's House, and unsurprisingly he had the wood-elves' ability to utilize tight spaces and irregular terrain to advantage. This elf was ingenious in using Rivendell's soaring columns and the hardy branches overhead. He would perch and push off of them, all but dance around them. He was a warrior of feline, balletic stealth, rather than the bruising force often needed on a more open battlefield. But it wasn't just his clever use of space that Glorfindel found intriguing. Wood-elves were exceptional at fighting in the dark. Beneath the eaves of their thick, rich trees was shade, yes, but from the encroaching dark of their fallen south, there was shadow too. These beleaguered elves could fight with limited light, and with heightened senses not wholly dependent on their eyes, they could take on enemies without seeing them, such as those on their backs. The gifted young one before him, for example, could weather a twofold assault even if one was coming from behind him, unseen. Indeed, the spectacular wood-elf's abstract gaze wasn't even focused on his foes.

Objectively, Glorfindel determined that the two Rivendell elves needed to work better together to best this fiery upstart. Less objectively, however, his sword hand itched to test this young warrior. This was a wild horse that needed some breaking...

... but he held his ground. He didn't live for all these years without learning restraint. Something else was afoot. It was why Lord Elrond took little delight in the stunning display of fighting arts, and why the young elf's compatriots - distinct amongst the spectators by their clothes - looked apprehensive even as their champion had the upper hand.

At least he did, until the three Rivendell elves finally did as Glorfindel felt they long should have - started coordinating their movements. What they did, however, surprised the warrior. The two swordsmen did not conduct a joint attack right away. They circled the young elf, gave him a wide berth, and fell deathly still and silent.

The wood-elf at the center froze too, and his head tilted and turned with every minute movement and sound. The silence seemed to unnerve him. He slapped a hand against his ear as if to ground himself, and it was all the distraction the two swordsmen needed. They pounced. The wood-elf dodged by luck and some miraculous acrobatic feat, but his foes knew now, what to do to get the better of him.

Again they circled him and backed away. Again came the stillness and oppressive silence. Again came the wood-elf's hand to his ear. His face - a very fair one, Glorfindel realized belatedly - crumpled to a mask of angry frustration. He growled, and the low, long sound of it was threatening, like a taut bow begging for release.

He stomped on the ground in front of him with his right leg, and tilted his head in thought. Whatever he found there, he lunged towards. The swordsman standing in that direction dodged, and with that dodge came movement and sound again, and the wood-elf trailed after him hungrily.

The wood-elf, Glorfindel realized, was listening and feeling for where his foes were standing in still silence.

The wood-elf was blind.

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The exercise ended when the swordsmen repeated their tactic and shot forward in unison. Two blades stopped a hairsbreadth from the wood-elf's neck. He returned the 'favor' more or less, with knives stretched out, resting over the hearts of his two assailants.

A stunned silence followed, which again unnerved the young wood-elf that his hand shot to his ear again, unintentionally cutting his wrist against one of the swords still pressed against his neck. He jerked away, and so did the Rivendell elf whose knife had cut him.

Elrond, his loyal Lindir, and some of the wood-elf's party shot forward. The others started asking the spectators to disperse, which they did reluctantly until all but a few elves remained in the courtyard. Glorfindel was, unsurprisingly, let to do whatever he wished. He walked leisurely toward where the fighters clustered.

"I am sorry, hir-nin!" exclaimed one of the swordsmen. "I should have pulled away sooner!"

The wood-elf shook off the sting from his hand. "The fault is mine," he assured the other, before pressing the cut to his full lips.

Elrond hissed at him disapprovingly. "That is not how I would do it, princeling."

Glorfindel's brows rose in realization. Oropher's house, indeed. This must be Thranduil's son. He'd heard of the Prince Legolas - a gifted archer, they said... but then, what had become of those eyes...?

Legolas sucked at the cut. It was shallow; he and the Rivendell warrior had pulled away from each other upon immediate contact. He removed his hand and licked at his reddened lips as he turned in the general direction of Elrond.

"I should hope not, my lord!" He smiled. It was devastating, but Elrond proved immune. The healer in him had sighted blood, and he came after it with a vengeance. He reached for Legolas' injury to examine it.

"All this fuss when it is good as new!" Insisted one of the Mirkwood elves gruffly. It was a gigantic Silvan, who had a cruel sort of face but he sidled up close to his Prince, protectively and possessively.

"We will make sure he has it cleaned at the wards and keeps it that way, Lord Elrond," promised another of the Prince's party. This one was small and svelte, delicate and diplomatic - the complete foil of the one who had spoken.

"And so you see my lord," Legolas said jovially, "Between Renior and Telion I am well looked after."

Elrond released his hand reluctantly. "You made a good showing at any rate. But perhaps my soldiers should have been more sporting. That they had used your weakness-"

"Is precisely what they should have done," Legolas finished. "It is better that I learn how to combat such wily foes in safety here, Lord Elrond, rather than out there. If you wish to apologize for not being fair, then perhaps you shouldn't have given me two to fight."

It was Elrond's turn to smile. "Ah, Legolas. If I was truly sporting I would have given you five."

"Darn straight!" exclaimed the giant Silvan, Renior.

"But you must curb that impulse of yours," Elrond added.

As if compelled, the Prince touched at his ear again with a wince. "I know, my lord. I suppose I just fear... losing them too. Silence is oppressive. But I am learning."

At Glorfindel's approach, they ceased speaking. Legolas surprised the Balrog slayer by looking him right in the eye.

"Lord Glorfindel!" breathed the younger elf. His reaction puzzled his company too.

"Can you see him, Legolas?" Renior asked hopefully.

"In a manner of speaking," cane the quiet, awed reply. He reached out for Glorfindel, and traced his long, deft fingers at the edges of the legendary warrior's golden hair, where some shorter strands came down to just below his shoulders. He pulled his hand away.

"I am sorry, my lord," he said. "But where many are a subtler presence, you all but burn in the dark!"

"Extraordinary," said Elrond, "that you should see what eyes cannot."

Legolas stared at Glorfindel hungrily, and kept staring. The legendary warrior, who was more or less subject to such treatment most everywhere he went, suffered it gladly for a wounded elf who had lost his sight, and was seeing something for the first time in a long time.

"Stop being odd before The Balrog Slayer, Legolas," Renior urged him in a uselessly low voice. "He might think us uncivilized!" He himself, however, could not help but stare.

Legolas averted his gaze, and Glorfindel was surprised at his own regret for the loss of it. The younger elf's eyes were a stunning shade of blue.

"I apologize." The Prince favored the golden warrior with a small bow. "I have the advantage of you, Lord Glorfindel. I knew it couldn't have been anyone else. But you do not know me."

"Ah but there you are mistaken." Glorfindel returned the bow. "I've come to expect great things from the Wood elves, and from its finest son most of all. You have not disappointed, Prince Legolas."

"But you should have seen how he was with a bow!" Renior bragged, obtusely. It was the "was" that caused much consternation. Elrond and Telion winced. For Legolas, a small but deep pain crossed his eyes, before he covered it with a smile.

"Perhaps he will one day," he said softly. "Excuse me. I will have this tended." He gave an ambiguous wave, indicating his injured hand and as a goodbye, before turning away.

His comrades trailed after him with polite murmurs to their host. Elrond and Glorfindel watched them go, clustered around their Prince whose stance was strong and steps were sure, even with his disability.

"Your newest stray is magnificent," Glorfindel said.

Elrond gave out a soft laugh. "Stray?"

"All these strange creatures finding their home here," Glorfindel said good-naturedly.

"He is magnificent," Elrond conceded, "but not so new. The years of your life have muddled with your sense of time again, old friend. You've not graced us in a while from all your journeys. In the meantime the Prince has been a frequent and beloved visitor these last few years. He is beloved by my children, who are certain to make their way here from Lothlorien, as soon as word reaches them of Legolas' ailment. Legolas is a captain in his father's army, but as occasional diplomat and messenger he has come to us often. He has been mostly the latter during his infirmity, to give him purpose without having to send him to the dangerous borders of their realm."

"What has befallen him?" Glorfindel asked, turning serious.

"The Elvenking wrote that Legolas had taken a terrible hit to the head during combat," Elrond replied. "Bad enough that his survival was uncertain for a time. He was unresponsive for a week, and so the vision impairment was unknown until he regained consciousness. There was bleeding and pressure building inside, relieved only by another procedure. But the damage has been done, and he has been without sight since waking half a year ago. He was sent here the moment he was strong enough for travel, in the hopes that we may be able to do something for him. And so he's been in Imladris these last two months, regaining strength every day."

"But not his vision," Glorfindel pointed out. "He is Firstborn. It cannot be permanent, can it? He must still be healing."

"I concur," said Elrond, "but the damage was considerable. He needs time. And until then, he is learning to live with it - and kill with it, as you have seen."

"A part of living where he is from," Glorfindel said gravely.

"Indeed," acknowledged Elrond. "I agree, and his own father concurred that he needed to do this, else we would never have allowed him into our training fields."

Glorfindel frowned in the direction which Legolas and his party of elves had gone. He had a flash of vision then, of a head of spun gold walking towards and unspeakable danger amongst a gaggle of fellows. "I think he might be a part of the larger scheme of things, Elrond."

"You've seen it?"

"I don't know that 'see' is the proper way to describe such things," Glorfindel said, "but I do believe it to be true, by some inexplicable sense. I do wonder however, why the gods would see it fit to give us..." he searched for kinder words but could not find any, "broken pieces with which to play, so to speak."

Elrond gave him a grim smile. "It wouldn't be the first time."

 _Broken swords... broken people_ , Glorfindel reflected. It was not untrue.

"I wonder if there is anything I might do to help improve his situation," said the ancient warrior. "Would he benefit from time training with me?"

"Who wouldn't?" said Elrond wryly, before adding more seriously, "but do not let his performance today lull you into the false belief that he is recovered save for his eyes. He is unwell. He gets debilitating headaches. And the occasional convulsions are devastating. The latter presents serious dangers, still. They depress his breathing and reviving him afterwards never gets any easier."

"What causes them?" Glorfindel asked, "Would working with me be to his detriment?"

"We do not know," Elrond replied. "In the meantime, it would do him good to know how to defend himself, if his condition should last longer than we hope. Train him, old friend, and do not go easy, for he will know. But do avoid any more hits to the head, be near aid at all times, be attentive to symptoms and most importantly - do not let him push himself too hard. He is... known to be difficult in that way."

Glorfindel nodded, and was already beginning to formulate a plan of approach. "Does he join evening meals?"

"Yes," Elrond replied.

"I shall accost him with a proposal then."

Elrond nodded, but seemed to hesitate.

"Anything else I should know?" Glorfindel asked.

"How do I put this delicately," the Lord of Imladris murmured. "Hm. Try and not make a conquest of this one if you can, my lord Glorfindel."

The ancient warrior let out a surprised, indignant laugh. "I had no intentions to, Lord Elrond."

"You never have intentions to and yet it still happens."

"I sometimes do have intentions," Glorfindel admitted lightly. "You've known me long enough and yet have seen it fit to address this issue with me only now. You still surprise, old friend."

"Legolas may be in his majority but he is young yet," said Elrond, "on top of being ill and Thranduil's son, besides. He was entrusted to our care for healing of his body and in failing that, at least his heart. Try and uh, not to break it, eh?"

"Now that," said Glorfindel, "I never mean to do."

"And yet it still happens at times, too."

Glorfindel winced. "As it does. But you have my word I will not toy with your wood-elf. If he should fall it will be his own doing."

Elrond sighed. "You are made too beautiful for everyone's good."

Glorfindel laughed. "And you are too kind."

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The elven prince was nowhere to be found in the dining halls for the evening meal, and neither were two of his loyal cadre, the giant one and the tiny one. Renior and Telion, Glorfindel remembered them being called.

The hall was abuzz with its usual activity, and Glorfindel found plenty of pleasant distractions until the end of the service. Many elves lingered for wine and conversation, but the elven prince never showed. His loyal, tiny Telion, however, discreetly entered the hall and spoke with a server, who promptly scurried off to prepare a tray of food. Glorfindel excused himself from two lieutenants who had engaged him in idle chatter and stood with Telion as he waited for what Glorfindel assumed would be the Prince's meal.

"Is your prince well, Telion?"

The smaller elf looked ready to jump out of his skin. "You remember me, my lord!"

"You are perceptive, loyal, and seem to have kindness," Glorfindel said, "I would never have forgotten."

Telion's face flushed. He shifted the topic away from himself. " _Hir-nin_ is well enough, resting in his rooms. But he forgets to eat sometimes."

"I have business with him," Glorfindel said. "I should like the pleasure of bringing him his meal and discussing it in private. You will stay here and partake of food for yourself."

"Oh, I musn't-!"

But Glorfindel would not be dissuaded, and all the years of his life and beyond had taught him how to get his way, most always.

"Be at leisure and return only when you are finished, loyal Telion." He started to take the tray from the server's hands. Telion sputtered and made a move to reach for it, but the server deferred to the more senior, legendary warrior elf. Glorfindel rewarded her with a devastating smile that almost had the entire tray swinging to the floor if not for the golden warrior's reflexes. Glorfindel then called for the lieutenants he had abandoned, who eagerly stepped forward.

"I implore you to share your genial company with my good friend Telion," he told them as he started to walk away. "Make sure he eats well, and that his heart find joy in tales of your exploits."

Any 'good friend' of Glorfindel's immediately had gravitas in Rivendell, and the lieutenants swarmed Telion happily as the golden haired lord made his merry way out of the hall.

#

# # #

#

Legolas' suite of rooms, Glorfindel found out from one of the guards, was a converted space next to the healing wards. Elrond had truly meant it when he said the prince was still ill, and his proximity to the healers was proof of that. Glorfindel suspected the separate quarters was both a concession to the Prince's rank, as well as a compromise that he be "released" from the wards. It was so very sensible and economical and sensible, he thought, so very Elrond.

The doors were guarded by two Mirkwood elves, who were so surprised to find the Balrog slayer bearing a tray of food for their Prince that they stepped aside, mouths agape, and let him through.

Thus he was able to catch Legolas unawares. The Prince was out on his balconies, wearing robes over loose bedclothes. He was barefoot and sitting on the ground, knees folded and embraced to his chest. His pale hair, loosely worn, shone in the moonlight. His angular face was raised to the heavens, unseeing glacial blue eyes wide open with naked longing.

The sight, inexplicably, made Glorfindel's heart stop. It reminded him of the beginning of time, of a wide world churning into shape and jolting to life, spun from the delicate hands of the gods. The firstborn, after all, woke beneath the unmarred stars. It was the first thing they ever saw.

"Are the stars really out tonight, Telion?" Legolas suddenly asked, sensing the new arrival.

"I am afraid you have to settle with lesser company tonight, young prince," Glorfindel found voice to say. The other elf jolted in surprise at his voice, and he turned to face the older warrior. It was unsettling, how Legolas' blind eyes again somehow found and settled squarely on Glorfindel's. He scrambled as if to stand.

"Please stay where you are," Glorfindel said quickly. Legolas did as he was bid, with some hesitation. "May I sit with you?"

"Of course!"

Glorfindel lowered the tray of food between them, and smiled when the other elf took a deep breath of the fragrant fare of warm breads and seemed to find his hunger, as well as his good humor. The sadness visibly faded from his eyes to breathtaking effect.

"The hospitality of this House is indeed unparalleled if the famed Balrog slayer himself is relegated to serving bread."

Glorfindel happily took the cue that levity was allowed. "You are being presumptuous. Perhaps this is for me, and not for you."

The Prince smiled, and irreverently picked a piece of bread from the tray. He chewed on it thoughtfully.

"It takes manipulation of rare quality to wrest Telion from his self-imposed duties to me," he said.

"One amongst my many talents," Glorfindel said, smoothly seguing into his purpose here. "I've seen you fight. I think there is much we can learn from each other."

Legolas chuckled quietly. "You are being kind. I doubt there is much you do not know about a great many things, my lord."

Glorfindel shrugged. "You might be surprised. So. If you are interested, I train early, daily and long."

"So do I," said the other boldly. "I think it would be interesting to cross swords with you."

"Tomorrow then?"

"I look forward to it."

Glorfindel hesitated. "Are there uh, any specific accommodations you might require-" He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.

"I should think not," the wood-elf snapped. "Do you require special accommodations?"

"I?" Glorfindel asked, confused.

"Given your old age I thought perhaps you require rest so soon after your travels."

Glorfindel couldn't help but laugh. "You, whelp, shall pay for your audacity tomorrow."

"I am counting on you trying, my lord," Legolas said with grim satisfaction as Glorfindel rose to his feet.

"I will leave you to your dinner."

Legolas reached for him, and caught the end of his robe. "I do thank you for the meal, Lord Glorfindel. And for your interest in my betterment, I am eternally grateful."

"I still won't take it easy on you. Do not to be late."

Legolas laughed, and the sound was beautiful and musical.

 **TO (MAYBE) BE CONTINUED…**


End file.
